LIBRARY 

UNIV?3^TY  O 
CALIF  :.f-.N  A 
SAN  DIEGO 


Born  ^  Auglq95_  Died  20    Sep«  182O. 


DRAKE'S  POEMS. 


THE 


CULPRIT     FAY 


AND 


OTHER    POEMS. 


BY    JOSEPH    RODMAN    DRAKE. 


NEW-YORK: 
VAN   NORDEN    AND   KING,  45    WALL   STREET. 

1847. 


[Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States  of  America,  in  the  year  1847, 
by  GEORGE  C.  DE  KAY,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New-York.] 


€  U  L  P 


1  T 


Y 


VAN  TslOHDF.N  &  IdNG.  46  WAli,  SIBJ  KT 


INDEX. 


PAGE 

The  Culprit  Fay, 9 

To  a  Friend, .  41 

Leon,         .                                              49 

Niagara,         ....                  65 

Song, 68 

Song,                                69 

Lines  written  in  a  Lady's  Album,        ......  70 

Lines  to  a  Lady,              ........  71 

Lines  on  leaving  New  Rochelle, 73 

Hope,             73 

Fragment,          .........  75 

To ,             79 

Lines, 80 

To  Eva,                  81 

To  a  Lady  with  a  Violet,           .......  82 

Bronx, .83 

Song, 86 

To  Sarah, 87 

The  American  Flag, 89 


TO 

HER  FATHER'S  FRIEND, 
FITZ-GREENE    HALLECK, 

THESE    POEMS    ARE 

RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR'S  DAUGHTER. 


THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 


"  My  visual  orbs  are  purged  from  film,  and  lo  ! 

"  Instead  of  Anster's  turnip-bearing  vales 
"  I  see  old  fairy  laud's  miraculous  show  ! 

"  Her  trees  of  tinsel  kissed  by  freakish  gales, 
"  Her  Ouphs  that,  cloaked  in  leaf-gold,  skim  the  breeze, 

"  And  fairies,  swarming 


TENNANT'S  ANSTER  FAIR. 


I. 


'Tis  the  middle  watch  of  a  summer's  night  — 

The  earth  is  dark,  but  the  heavens  are  bright ; 

Nought  is  seen  in  the  vault  on  high 

But  the  moon,  and  the  stars,  and  the  cloudless  sky, 

And  the  flood  which  rolls  its  milky  hue, 

A  river  of  light  on  the  welkin  blue. 

The  moon  looks  down  on  old  Cronest, 

She  mellows  the  shades  on  his  shaggy  breast, 

And  seems  his  huge  gray  form  to  throw 

In  a  silver  cone  on  the  wave  below ; 


10  THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 

His  sides  are  broken  by  spots  of  shade, 
By  the  walnut  bough  and  the  cedar  made, 
And  through  their  clustering  branches  dark 
Glimmers  and  dies  the  fire-fly's  spark — 
Like  starry  twinkles  that  momently  break 
Through  the  rifts  of  the  gathering  tempest's  rack. 


II. 


The  stars  are  on  the  moving  stream, 

And  fling,  as  its  ripples  gently  flow, 

i 

A  burnished  length  of  wavy  beam 

In  an  eel-like,  spiral  line  below ; 
The  winds  are  whist,  and  the  owl  is  still, 

The  bat  in  the  shelvy  rock  is  hid, 
And  nought  is  heard  on  the  lonely  hill 
But  the  cricket's  chirp,  and  the  answer  shrill 

Of  the  gauze-winged  katy-did ; 
And  the  plaint  of  the  wailing  whip-poor-will, 

Who  moans  unseen,  and  ceaseless  sings, 
Ever  a  note  of  wail  and  wo, 

Till  morning  spreads  her  rosy  wings, 
And  earth  and  sky  in  her  glances  glow. 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY.  11 


III. 


'Tis  the  hour  of  fairy  ban  and  spell : 
The  wood-tick  has  kept  the  minutes  well ; 
He  has  counted  them  all  with  click  and  stroke, 
Deep  in  the  heart  of  the  mountain  oak, 
And  he  has  awakened  the  sentry  elve 

Who  sleeps  with  him  in  the  haunted  tree, 
To  bid  him  ring  the  hour  of  twelve, 

And  call  the  fays  to  their  revelry ; 
Twelve  small  strokes  on  his  tinkling  bell — 
('Twas  made  of  the  white  snail's  pearly  shell :- 
"  Midnight  comes,  and  all  is  well ! 
Hither,  hither,  wing  your  way  ! 
'Tis  the  dawn  of  the  fairy  day." 


IV. 


They  come  from  beds  of  lichen  green, 
They  creep  from  the  mullen's  velvet  screen ; 

Some  on  the  backs  of  beetles  fly 
From  the  silver  tops  of  moon- touched  trees, 

Where  they  swung  in  their  cobweb  hammocks  high, 
And  rock'd  about  in  the  evening  breeze; 


12  THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 

Some  from  the  hum-bird's  downy  nest  — 
They  had  driven  him  out  by  elfin  power, 

And  pillowed  on  plumes  of  his  rainbow  breast, 
Had  slumbered  there  till  the  charmed  hour; 

Some  had  lain  in  the  scoop  of  the  rock, 
With  glittering  ising-stars  inlaid ; 

And  some  had  opened  the  four-o'clock, 
And  stole  within  its  purple  shade. 

And  now  they  throng  the  moonlight  glade, 
Above — below — on  every  side, 

Their  little  minim  forms  arrayed 
In  the  tricksy  pomp  of  fairy  pride ! 


V. 


They  come  not  now  to  print  the  lea, 

In  freak  and  dance  around  the  tree, 

Or  at  the  mushroom  board  to  sup, 

And  drink  the  dew  from  the  buttercup ; 

A  scene  of  sorrow  waits  them  now, 

For  an  Ouphe  has  broken  his  vestal  vow ; 

He  has  loved  an  earthly  maid, 

And  left  for  her  his  woodland  shade ; 

He  has  lain  upon  her  lip  of  dew, 

And  sunned  him  in  her  eye  of  blue, 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY. 

Fann'd  her  cheek  with  his  wing  of  air, 
Played  in  the  ringlets  of  her  hair, 
And,  nestling  on  her  snowy  breast, 
Forgot  the  lily-king's  behest. 
For  this  the  shadowy  tribes  of  air 

To  the  elfin  court  must  haste  away :  - 
And  now  they  stand  expectant  there, 

To  hear  the  doom  of  the  Culprit  Fay. 


VI. 


The  throne  was  reared  upon  the  grass 
Of  spice-wood  and  of  sassafras ; 
On  pillars  of  mottled  tortoise-shell 

Hung  the  burnished  canopy — 
And  o'er  it  gorgeous  curtains  fell 

Of  the  tulip's  crimson  drapery. 
The  monarch  sat  on  his  judgment-seat, 

On  his  brow  the  crown  imperial  shone, 
The  prisoner  Fay  was  at  his  feet, 

And  his  peers  were  ranged  around  the  throne. 
He  waved  his  sceptre  in  the  air. 

He  looked  around  and  calmly  spoke ; 
His  brow  was  grave  and  his  eye  severe, 

But  his  voice  in  a  softened  accent  broke : 


13 


14  THE   CULPRIT  FAY. 


VII. 


"  Fairy !  Fairy !  list  and  mark, 
Thou  hast  broke  thine  elfin  chain, 

Thy  flame-wood  lamp  is  quenched  and  dark, 
And  thy  wings  are  dyed  with  a  deadly  stain 

Thou  hast  sullied  thine  elfin  purity 

In  the  glance  of  a  mortal  maiden's  eye, 

Thou  hast  scorned  our  dread  decree, 

And  thou  shouldst  pay  the  forfeit  high, 

But  well  I  know  her  sinless  mind 

Is  pure  as  the  angel  forms  above, 

Gentle  and  meek,  and  chaste  and  kind, 

Such  as  a  spirit  well  might  love ; 

Fairy  !  had  she  spot  or  taint, 

Bitter  had  been  thy  punishment. 

Tied  to  the  hornet's  shardy  wings ; 

Tossed  on  the  pricks  of  nettle's  stings ; 

Or  seven  long  ages  doomed  to  dwell 

With  the  lazy  worm  in  the  walnut-shell ; 

Or  every  night  to  writhe  and  bleed 

Beneath  the  tread  of  the  centipede ; 

Or  bound  in  a  cobweb  dungeon  dim, 

Your  jailer  a  spider  huge  and  grim, 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY. 


15 


Amid  the  carrion  bodies  to  He, 

Of  the  worm,  and  the  bug,  and  the  murdered  fly : 

These  it  had  been  your  lot  to  bear, 

Had  a  stain  been  found  on  the  earthly  fair. 

Now  list,  and  mark  our  mild  decree  — 

Fairy,  this  your  doom  must  be  : 


VIII. 

"  Thou  shalt  seek  the  beach  of  sand 

Where  the  water  bounds  the  elfin  land, 

Thou  shalt  watch  the  oozy  brine 

Till  the  sturgeon  leaps  in  the  bright  moonshine, 

Then  dart  the  glistening  arch  below, 

And  catch  a  drop  from  his  silver  bow. 

The  water-sprites  will  wield  their  arms 

And  dash  around,  with  roar  and  rave, 
And  vain  are  the  woodland  spirits'  charms, 

They  are  the  imps  that  rule  the  wave. 
Yet  trust  thee  in  thy  single  might, 
If  thy  heart  be  pure  and  thy  spirit  right, 
Thou  shalt  win  the  warlock  fight. 


16  THE   CULPRIT  FAY. 


IX. 


"  If  the  spray-bead  gem  be  won, 

The  stain  of  thy  wing  is  washed  away, 

But  another  errand  must  be  done 
Ere  thy  crime  be  lost  for  aye ; 

Thy  flame-wood  lamp  is  quenched  and  dark, 

Thou  must  re-illume  its  spark. 

Mount  thy  steed  and  spur  him  high 

To  the  heaven's  blue  canopy ; 

And  when  thou  seest  a  shooting  star, 

Follow  it  fast,  and  follow  it  far — 

The  last  faint  spark  of  its  burning  train 

Shall  light  the  elfin  lamp  again. 

Thou  hast  heard  our  sentence,  Fay ; 

Hence  !  to  the  water-side,  away !  " 


The  goblin  marked  his  monarch  well ; 

He  spake  not,  but  he  bowed  him  low, 
Then  plucked  a  crimson  colen-bell, 

And  turned  him  round  in  act  to  go. 


THE  CULPRIT  FAY.  17 

The  way  is  long,  he  cannot  fly, 

His  soiled  wing  has  lost  its  power, 
And  he  winds  adown  the  mountain  high, 

For  many  a  sore  and  weary  hour. 
Through  dreary  beds  of  tangled  fern, 
Through  groves  of  nightshade  dark  and  dern, 
Over  the  grass  and  through  the  brake, 
Where  toils  the  ant  and  sleeps  the  snake ; 

Now  o'er  the  violet's  azure  flush 
He  skips  along  in  lightsome  mood ; 

And  now  he  thrids  the  bramble  bush, 
Till  its  points  are  dyed  in  fairy  blood. 
He  has  leapt  the  bog,  he  has  pierced  the  briar, 
He  has  swum  the  brook,  and  waded  the  mire, 
Till  his  spirits  sank,  and  his  limbs  grew  weak, 
And  the  red  waxed  fainter  in  his  cheek. 
He  had  fallen  to  the  ground  outright, 

For  rugged  and  dim  was  his  onward  track, 
But  there  came  a  spotted  toad  in  sight, 

And  he  laughed  as  he  jumped  upon  her  back ; 
He  bridled  her  mouth  with  a  silk-weed  twist ; 

He  lashed  her  sides  with  an  osier  thong ; 
And  now  through  evening's  dewy  mist, 

With  leap  and  spring  they  bound  along, 
Till  the  mountain's  magic  verge  is  past, 
And  the  beach  of  sand  is  reached  at  last. 


18  THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 


XI. 


Soft  and  pale  is  the  moony  beam, 

Moveless  still  the  glassy  stream, 

The  wave  is  clear,  the  beach  is  bright 

With  snowy  shells  and  sparkling  stones ; 
The  shore-surge  comes  in  ripples  light, 

In  murmurings  faint  and  distant  moans ; 
And  ever  afar  in  the  silence  deep 
Is  heard  the  splash  of  the  sturgeon's  leap, 
And  the  bend  of  his  graceful  bow  is  seen — 
A  glittering  arch  of  silver  sheen, 
Spanning  the  wave  of  burnished  blue, 
And  dripping  with  gems  of  the  river  dew. 


XII. 


The  elfin  cast  a  glance  around, 

As  he  lighted  down  from  his  courser  toad, 
Then  round  his  breast  his  wings  he  wound, 

And  close  to  the  river's  brink  he  strode ; 
He  sprang  on  a  rock,  he  breathed  a  prayer, 

Above  his  head  his  arms  he  threw, 


THE  CULPRIT  FAY.  19 

Then  tossed  a  tiny  curve  in  air, 

And  headlong  plunged  in  the  waters  blue. 


XIII. 

Up  sprung  the  spirits  of  the  waves, 

From  sea-silk  beds  in  their  coral  caves, 

With  snail-plate  armour  snatched  in  haste, 

They  speed  their  way  through  the  liquid  waste  ; 

Some  are  rapidly  borne  along 

On  the  mailed  shrimp  or  the  prickly  prong, 

Some  on  the  blood-red  leeches  glide, 

Some  on  the  stony  star-fish  ride, 

Some  on  the  back  of  the  lancing  squab, 

Some  on  the  sideling  soldier-crab, 

And  some  on  the  jellied  quarl,  that  flings 

At  once  a  thousand  streamy  stings — 

They  cut  the  wave  wTith  the  living  oar 

And  hurry  on  to  the  moonlight  shore, 

To  guard  their  realms  and  chase  away 

The  footsteps  of  the  invading  Fay. 


20  THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 


XIV. 

Fearlessly  he  skims  along-, 
His  hope  is  high,  and  his  limbs  are  strong, 
He  spreads  his  arms  like  the  swallow's  wing, 
And  throws  his  feet  with  a  frog-like  fling ; 
His  locks  of  gold  on  the  waters  shine, 

At  his  breast  the  tiny  foam-beads  rise, 
His  back  gleams  bright  above  the  brine, 

And  the  wake-line  foam  behind  him  lies. 
But  the  water-sprites  are  gathering  near 

To  check  his  course  along  the  tide ; 
Their  warriors  come  in  swift  career 

And  hem  him  round  on  every  side ; 
On  his  thigh  the  leech  has  fixed  his  hold, 
The  quail's  long  arms  are  round  him  roll'd, 
The  prickly  prong  has  pierced  his  skin, 

And  the  squab  has  thrown  his  javelin, 

t 
The  gritty  star  has  rubbed  him  raw, 

And  the  crab  has  struck  with  his  giant  claw ; 
He  howls  with  rage,  and  he  shrieks  with  pain, 
He  strikes  around,  but  his  blows  are  vain ; 
Hopeless  is  the  unequal  fight, 
Fairy !  nought  is  left  but  flight. 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY. 


21 


XV. 


He  turned  him  round  and  fled  amain 
With  hurry  and  dash  to  the  beach  again ; 
He  twisted  over  from  side  to  side, 
And  laid  his  cheek  to  the  cleaving  tide. 
The  strokes  of  his  plunging  arms  are  fleet, 
And  with  all  his  might  he  flings  his  feet, 
But  the  water-sprites  are  round  him  still, 
To  cross  his  path  and  work  him  ill. 
They  bade  the  wave  before  him  rise ; 
They  flung  the  sea-fire  in  his  eyes, 
And  they  stunned  his  ears  with  the  scallop  stroke, 
With  the  porpoise  heave  and  the  drum-fish  croak. 
Oh !  but  a  weary  wight  was  he 
When  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  dog- wood  tree ; 
— Gashed  and  wounded,  and  stiff  and  sore, 
He  laid  him  down  on  the  sandy  shore ; 
He  blessed  the  force  of  the  charmed  line, 
And  he  banned  the  water-goblins'  spite, 
For  he  saw  around  in  the  sweet  moonshine, 
Their  little  wee  faces  above  the  brine, 

Giggling  and  laughing  with  all  their  might 
At  the  piteous  hap  of  the  Fairy  wight. 


22  THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 


XVI. 

Soon  he  gathered  the  balsam  dew 

From  the  sorrel  leaf  and  the  henbane  bud ; 

Over  each  wound  the  balm  he  drew, 

And  with  cobweb  lint  he  stanched  the  blood. 

The  mild  west  wind  was  soft  and  low, 

It  cooled  the  heat  of  his  burning  brow, 

And  he  felt  new  life  in  his  sinews  shoot. 

As  he  drank  the  juice  of  the  cal'mus  root ; 

And  now  he  treads  the  fatal  shore, 

As  fresh  and  vigorous  as  before. 


XVII. 

Wrapped  in  musing  stands  the  sprite : 
'Tis  the  middle  wane  of  night, 

His  task  is  hard,  his  way  is  far, 
But  he  must  do  his  errand  right 

Ere  dawning  mounts  her  beamy  car, 
And  rolls  her  chariot  wheels  of  light ; 
And  vain  are  the  spells  of  fairy-land, 
He  must  work  with  a  human  hand. 


THE  CULPRIT  FAY.  23 


XVIII. 

He  cast  a  saddened  look  around, 

But  he  felt  new  joy  his  bosom  swell, 
When,  glittering  on  the  shadowed  ground, 

He  saw  a  purple  muscle  shell ; 
Thither  he  ran,  and  he  bent  him  low, 
He  heaved  at  the  stern  and  he  heaved  at  the  bow, 
And  he  pushed  her  over  the  yielding  sand, 
Till  he  came  to  the  verge  of  the  haunted  land. 
She  was  as  lovely  a  pleasure  boat 

As  ever  fairy  had  paddled  in, 
For  she  glowed  with  purple  paint  without, 

And  shone  with  silvery  pearl  within ; 
A  sculler's  notch  in  the  stern  he  made, 
An  oar  he  shaped  of  the  bootle  blade ; 
Then  sprung  to  his  seat  with  a  lightsome  leap, 
And  launched  afar  on  the  calm  blue  deep. 


XIX. 

The  imps  of  the  river  yell  and  rave  ; 
They  had  no  power  above  the  wave, 


24 


THE   CULPRIT  FAY. 


But  they  heaved  the  billow  before  the  prow, 

And  they  dashed  the  surge  against  her  side, 
And  they  struck  her  keel  with  jerk  and  blow, 

Till  the  gunwale  bent  to  the  rocking  tide. 
She  wimpled  about  in  the  pale  moonbeam, 
Like  a  feather  that  floats  on  a  wind-tossed  stream ; 
And  momently  athwart  her  track 
The  quarl  upreared  his  island  back, 
And  the  fluttering  scallop  behind  would  float, 
And  patter  the  water  about  the  boat ; 
But  he  bailed  her  out  with  his  colen-bell, 

And  he  kept  her  trimmed  with  a  wary  tread, 
While  on  every  side  like  lightning  fell 

The  heavy  strokes  of  his  bootle-blade. 


XX. 


Onward  still  he  held  his  way, 

Till  he  came  where  the  column  of  moonshine  lay, 

And  saw  beneath  the  surface  dim 

The  brown-backed  sturgeon  slowly  swim  : 

Around  him  were  the  goblin  train — 

But  he  sculled  with  all  his  might  and  main, 

And  followed  wherever  the  sturgeon  led, 

Till  he  saw  him  upward  point  his  head ; 


THE  CULPRIT  FAY.  25 


Then  he  dropped  his  paddle  blade, 

And  held  his  colen  goblet  up 

To  catch  the  drop  in  its  crimson  cup. 


XXI. 

With  sweeping  tail  and  quivering  fin, 

Through  the  wave  the  sturgeon  flew, 
And,  like  the  heaven-shot  javelin, 

He  sprung  above  the  waters  blue. 
Instant  as  the  star-fall  light, 

He  plunged  him  in  the  deep  again, 
But  left  an  arch  of  silver  bright 

The  rainbow  of  the  moony  main. 
It  was  a  strange  and  lovely  sight 

To  see  the  puny  goblin  there ; 
He  seemed  an  angel  form  of  light, 

With  azure  wing  and  sunny  hair, 

Throned  on  a  cloud  of  purple  fair, 
Circled  with  blue  and  edged  with  white, 
And  sitting  at  the  fall  of  even 
Beneath  the  bow  of  summer  heaven. 

D 


26  THE  CULPRIT   FAY. 


XXII. 

A  moment  and  its  lustre  fell, 

But  ere  it  met  the  billow  blue, 
He  caught  within  his  crimson  bell, 
A  droplet  of  its  sparkling  dew — 
Joy  to  thee,  Fay !  thy  task  is  done, 
Thy  wings  are  pure,  for  the  gem  is  won — 
Cheerly  ply  thy  dripping  oar, 
And  haste  away  to  the  elfin  shore. 


XXIIL 

He  turns,  and  lo !  on  either  side 

The  ripples  on  his  path  divide ; 

And  the  track  o'er  which  his  boat  must  pass 

Is  smooth  as  a  sheet  of  polished  glass. 

Around,  their  limbs  the  sea-nymphs  lave, 

With  snowy  arms  half  swelling  out, 
While  on  the  glossed  and  gleamy  wave 

Their  sea-green  ringlets  loosely  float ; 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY. 

They  swim  around  with  smile  and  song ; 

They  press  the  bark  with  pearly  hand, 
And  gently  urge  her  course  along, 

Toward  the  beach  of  speckled  sand ; 

And,  as  he  lightly  leapt  ,to  land, 
They  bade  adieu  with  nod  and  bow, 
Then  gayly  kissed  each  little  hand, 
And  dropped  in  the  crystal  deep  below. 


XXIV. 

A  moment  stayed  the  fairy  there  ; 

He  kissed  the  beach  and  breathed  a  prayer, 

Then  spread  his  wings  of  gilded  blue, 

And  on  to  the  elfin  court  he  flew ; 

As  ever  ye  saw  a  bubble  rise, 

And  shine  with  a  thousand  changing  dyes, 

Till  lessening  far  through  ether  driven, 

It  mingles  with  the  hues  of  heaven : 

As,  at  the  glimpse  of  morning  pale, 

The  lance-fly  spreads  his  silken  sail, 

And  gleams  with  blendings  soft  and  bright, 

Till  lost  in  the  shades  of  fading  night ; 

So  rose  from  earth  the  lovely  Fay — 

So  vanished,  far  in  heaven  away  ! 


28 


THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 


Up,  Fairy !  quit  thy  chick-weed  bower, 
The  cricket  has  called  the  second  hour, 
Twice  again,  and  the  lark  will  rise 
To  kiss  the  streaking  of  the  skies  — 
Up !  thy  charmed  armour  don, 
Thou'lt  need  it  ere  the  night  be  gone. 


XXV. 

He  put  his  acorn  helmet  on ; 

It  was  plumed  of  the  silk  of  the  thistle  down : 

The  corslet  plate  that  guarded  his  breast 

Was  once  the  wild  bee's  golden  vest ; 

His  cloak,  of  a  thousand  mingled  dyes, 

Was  formed  of  the  wings  of  butterflies; 

His  shield  was  the  shell  of  a  lady-bug  queen, 

Studs  of  gold  on  a  ground  of  green ; 

And  the  quivering  lance  which  he  brandished  bright, 

Was  the  sting  of  a  wasp  he  had  slain  in  fight. 

Swift  he  bestrode  his  fire-fly  steed ; 
He  bared  his  blade  of  the  bent  grass  blue ; 

He  drove  his  spurs  of  the  cockle  seed, 
And  away  like  a  glance  of  thought  he  flew, 
To  skim  the  heavens  and  follow  far 
The  fiery  trail  of  the  rocket-star. 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY.  29 


XXVI. 


The  moth-fly,  as  he  shot  in  air, 

Crept  under  the  leaf,  and  hid  her  there ; 

The  katy-did  forgot  its  lay, 

The  prowling  gnat  fled  fast  away, 

The  fell  mosqueto  checked  his  drone 

And  folded  his  wings  till  the  Fay  was  gone, 

And  the  wily  beetle  dropped  his  head, 

And  fell  on  the  ground  as  if  he  were  dead ; 

They  crouched  them  close  in  the  darksome  shade, 

They  quaked  all  o'er  with  awe  and  fear, 
For  they  had  felt  the  blue-bent  blade, 

And  writhed  at  the  prick  of  the  elfin  spear ; 
Many  a  time  on  a  summer's  night, 
When  the  sky  was  clear  and  the  moon  was  bright, 
They  had  been  roused  from  the  haunted  ground, 
By  the  yelp  and  bay  of  the  fairy  hound ; 
They  had  heard  the  tiny  bugle  horn, 

They  had  heard  the  twang  of  the  maize-silk  string, 
When  the  vine-twig  bows  were  tightly  drawn, 
And  the  nettle  shaft  through  air  was  borne, 

Feathered  with  down  of  the  hum-bird's  wing. 


30  THE  CULPRIT  FAY. 

And  now  they  deemed  the  courier  ouphe, 
Some  hunter  sprite  of  the  elfin  ground ; 

And  they  watched  till  they  saw  him  mount  the  roof 
That  canopies  the  world  around ; 

Then  glad  they  left  their  covert  lair, 

And  freaked  about  in  the  midnight  air. 


XXVII. 

Up  to  the  vaulted  firmament 

His*path  the  fire-fly  courser  bent, 

And  at  every  gallop  on  the  wind, 

He  flung  a  glittering  spark  behind ; 

He  flies  like  a  feather  in  the  blast 

Till  the  first  light  cloud  in  heaven  is  past, 

But  the  shapes  of  air  have  begun  their  work, 
And  a  drizzly  mist  is  round  him  cast, 

He  cannot  see  through  the  mantle  murk, 
He  shivers  with  cold,  but  he  urges  fast, 

Through  storm  and  darkness,  sleet  and  shade, 
He  lashes  his  steed  and  spurs  amain, 
For  shadowy  hands  have  twitched  the  rein, 

And  flame-shot  tongues  around  him  played, 
And  near  him  many  a  fiendish  eye 
Glared  with  a  fell  malignity, 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY.  31 


And  yells  of  rage,  and  shrieks  of  fear, 
Came  screaming  on  his  startled  ear. 


XXVIII. 

His  wings  are  wet  around  his  breast, 

The  plume  hangs  dripping  from  his  crest, 

His  eyes  are  blurr'd  with  the  lightning's  glare, 

And  his  ears  are  stunned  with  the  thunder's  blare, 

But  he  gave  a  shout,  and  his  blade  he  drew, 

He  thrust  before  and  he  struck  behind, 
Till  he  pierced  their  cloudy  bodies  through, 

And  gashed  their  shadowy  limbs  of  wind ; 
Howling  the  misty  spectres  flew, 

They  rend  the  air  with  frightful  cries, 
For  he  has  gained  the  welkin  blue, 

And  the  land  of  clouds  beneath  him  lies. 


XXIX. 

Up  to  the  cope  careering  swift 
In  breathless  motion  fast, 

Fleet  as  the  swallow  cuts  the  drift, 
Or  the  sea-roc  rides  the  blast, 


32 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY. 


The  sapphire  sheet  of  eve  is  shot, 

The  sphered  moon  is  past, 
The  earth  but  seems  a  tiny  blot 

On  a  sheet  of  azure  cast. 
O  !  it  was  sweet  in  the  clear  moonlight, 

To  tread  the  starry  plain  of  even, 
To  meet  the  thousand  eyes  of  night, 

And  feel  the  cooling  breath  of  heaven ! 
But  the  Elfin  made  no  stop  or  stay 
Till  he  came  to  the  bank  of  the  milky- way, 
Then  he  checked  his  courser's  foot, 
And  watched  for  the  glimpse  of  the  planet-shoot. 


XXX. 

Sudden  along  the  snowy  tide 

That  swelled  to  meet  their  footsteps'  fall, 
The  sylphs  of  heaven  were  seen  to  glide, 

Attired  in  sunset's  crimson  pall ; 
Around  the  Fay  they  weave  the  dance, 

They  skip  before  him  on  the  plain, 
And  one  has  taken  his  wasp-sting  lance, 

And  one  upholds  his  bridle  rein ; 
With  warblings  wild  they  lead  him  on 

To  where  through  clouds  of  amber  seen, 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY.  33 


Studded  with  stars,  resplendent  shone 

The  palace  of  the  sylphid  queen. 
Its  spiral  columns  gleaming  bright 
Were  streamers  of  the  northern  light ; 
Its  curtain's  light  and  lovely  flush 
Was  of  the  morning's  rosy  blush, 
And  the  ceiling  fair  that  rose  aboon 
The  white  and  feathery  fleece  of  noon. 


XXXI. 

But  oh !  how  fair  the  shape  that  lay 

Beneath  a  rainbow  bending  bright, 
She  seemed  to  the  entranced  Fay 

The  loveliest  of  the  forms  of  light ; 
Her  mantle  was  the  purple  rolled 

At  twilight  in  the  west  afar ; 
'Twas  tied  with  threads  of  dawning  gold, 

And  buttoned  with  a  sparkling  star. 
Her  face  was  like  the  lily  roon 

That  veils  the  vestal  planet's  hue ; 
Her  eyes,  two  beamlets  from  the  moon, 

Set  floating  in  the  welkin  blue. 
Her  hair  is  like  the  sunny  beam, 

And  the  diamond  gems  which  round  it  gleam 

E 


THE   CULPRIT  FAY. 


Are  the  pure  drops  of  dewy  even 

That  ne'er  have  left  their  native  heaven. 


XXXII. 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  the  wondering  sprite, 

And  they  leapt  with  smiles,  for  well  I  ween 
Never  before  in  the  bowers  of  light 

Had  the  form  of  an  earthly  Fay  been  seen. 
Long  she  looked  in  his  tiny  face ; 

Long  with  his  butterfly  cloak  she  played ; 
She  smoothed  his  wings  of  azure  lace, 

And  handled  the  tassel  of  his  blade  ; 
And  as  he  told  in  accents  low 
The  story  of  his  love  and  wo, 
She  felt  new  pains  in  her  bosom  rise, 

And  the  tear-drop  started  in  her  eyes. 
And  '  O  sweet  spirit  of  earth/  she  cried, 

'  Return  no  more  to  your  woodland  height, 
But  ever  here  with  me  abide 

In  the  land  of  everlasting  light ! 
Within  the  fleecy  drift  we'll  lie, 

We'll  hang  upon  the  rainbow's  rim ; 
And  all  the  jewels  of  the  sky 
Around  thy  brow  shall  brightly  beam ! 


THE  CULPRIT  FAY.  35 

And  thou  shall  bathe  thee  in  the  stream 

That  rolls  its  whitening  foam  aboon, 
And  ride  upon  the  lightning's  gleam, 

And  dance  upon  the  orbed  moon  ! 
We'll  sit  within  the  Pleiad  ring, 

We'll  rest  on  Orion's  starry  belt, 
And  I  will  bid  my  sylphs  to  sing 

The  song  that  makes  the  dew-mist  melt ; 
Their  harps  are  of  the  umber  shade, 

That  hides  the  blush  of  waking  day, 
And  every  gleamy  string  is  made 

Of  silvery  moonshine's  lengthened  ray ; 
And  thou  shalt  pillow  on  my  breast, 

While  heavenly  breathings  float  around, 
And,  with  the  sylphs  of  ether  blest, 

Forget  the  joys  of  fairy  ground.' 


XXXIII. 

She  was  lovely  and  fair  to  see 
And  the  elfin's  heart  beat  fitfully ; 
But  lovelier  far,  and  still  more  fair, 
The  earthly  form  imprinted  there ; 
Nought  he  saw  in  the  heavens  above 
Was  half  so  dear  as  his  mortal  love, 


36  THE  CULPRIT   FAY. 

For  he  thought  upon  her  looks  so  meek, 

And  he  thought  of  the  light  flush  on  her  cheek. 

Never  again  might  he  bask  and  lie 

On  that  sweet  cheek  and  moonlight  eye  ; 

But  in  his  dreams  her  form  to  see, 

To  clasp  her  in  his  reverie, 

To  think  upon  his  virgin  bride, 

Was  worth  all  heaven  and  earth  beside. 


XXXIV. 

'  Lady/  he  cried,  '  I  have  sworn  to-night, 

On  the  word  of  a  fairy  knight, 

To  do  my  sentence-task  aright ; 

My  honour  scarce  is  free  from  stain, 

I  may  not  soil  its  snows  again ; 

Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  wo, 

Its  mandate  must  be  answered  now/ 

Her  bosom  heaved  with  many  a  sigh, 

The  tear  was  in  her  drooping  eye ; 

But  she  led  him  to  the  palace  gate, 
And  called  the  sylphs  who  hovered  there, 

And  bade  them  fly  and  bring  him  straight 
Of  clouds  condensed  a  sable  car. 


THE  CULPRIT    FAY. 

l 

With  charm  and  spell  she  blessed  it  there, 
From  all  the  fiends  of  upper  air ; 
Then  round  him  cast  the  shadowy  shroud, 
And  tied  his  steed  behind  the  cloud ; 
And  pressed  his  hand  as  she  bade  him  fly 
Far  to  the  verge  of  the  northern  sky, 
For  by  its  wane  and  wavering  light 
There  was  a  star  would  fall  to-night. 


XXXV. 

Borne  afar  on  the  wings  of  the  blast, 
Northward  away,  he  speeds  him  fast, 
And  his  courser  follows  the  cloudy  wain 
Till  the  hoof-strokes  fall  like  pattering  rain. 
The  clouds  roll  backward  as  he  flies, 
Each  flickering  star  behind  him  lies, 
And  he  has  reached  the  northern  plain, 
And  backed  his  fire-fly  steed  again, 
Ready  to  follow  in  its  flight 
The  streaming  of  the  rocket-light. 


37 


38 


THE   CULPRIT  FAY. 


XXXVI. 

The  star  is  yet  in  the  vault  of  heaven, 

But  it  rocks  in  the  summer  gale ; 
And  now  'tis  fitful  and  uneven, 

And  now  'tis  deadly  pale  ; 
And  now  'tis  wrapp'd  in  sulphur  smoke, 

And  quenched  is  its  rayless  beam, 
And  now  with  a  rattling  thunder-stroke 

It  bursts  in  flash  and  flame. 
As  swift  as  the  glance  of  the  arrowy  lance 

That  the  storm-spirit  flings  from  high, 
The  star-shot  flew  o'er  the  welkin  blue, 

As  it  fell  from  the  sheeted  sky. 
As  swift  as  the  wind  in  its  trail  behind 

The  elfin  gallops  along, 
The  fiends  of  the  clouds  are  bellowing  loud, 

But  the  sylphid  charm  is  strong ; 
He  gallops  unhurt  in  the  shower  of  fire, 

While  the  cloud-fiends  fly  from  the  blaze  ; 
He  watches  each  flake  till  its  sparks  expire, 

And  rides  in  the  light  of  its  rays. 
But  he  drove  his  steed  to  the  lightning's  speed, 

And  caught  a  glimmering  spark  ; 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY.  39 

Then  wheeled  around  to  the  fairy  ground, 

And  sped  through  the  midnight  dark. 

******* 

Ouphe  and  goblin  !  imp  and  sprite  ! 

Elf  of  eve  !  and  starry  Fay  ! 
Ye  that  love  the  moon's  soft  light, 

Hither — hither  wend  your  way ; 
Twine  ye  in  a  jocund  ring, 

Sing  and  trip  it  merrily, 
Hand  to  hand,  and  wing  to  wing, 

Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  tree. 


Hail  the  wanderer  again, 

With  dance  and  song,  and  lute  and  lyre, 
Pure  his  wing  and  strong  his  chain, 

And  doubly  bright  his  fairy  fire. 
Twine  ye  in  an  airy  round, 

Brush  the  dew  and  print  the  lea ; 
Skip  and  gambol,  hop  and  bound, 

Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  tree. 


The  beetle  guards  our  holy  ground, 
He  flies  about  the  haunted  place, 

And  if  mortal  there  be  found, 

He  hums  in  his  ears  and  flaps  his  face  ; 


40 


THE  CULPRIT   FAY. 


The  leaf-harp  sounds  our  roundelay, 
The  owlet's  eyes  our  lanterns  be ; 

Thus  we  sing,  and  dance,  and  play, 
Round  the  wild  witch-hazel  tree. 


But  hark  !  from  tower  on  tree-top  high, 

The  sentry  elf  his  call  has  made, 
A  streak  is  in  the  eastern  sky, 

Shapes  of  moonlight !  flit  and  fade  ! 
The  hill-tops  gleam  in  morning's  spring, 
The  sky-lark  shakes  his  dappled  wing, 
The  day-glimpse  glimmers  on  the  lawn, 
The  cock  has  crowed,  and  the  Fays  are  gone. 


41 

TOAFRIEND. 

"  You  damn  me  with  faint  praise." 


YES,  faint  was  my  applause  and  cold  my  praise, 
Though  soul  was  glowing  in  each  polished  line  ; 
But  nobler  subjects  claim  the  poet's  lays, 
A  brighter  glory  waits  a  muse  like  thine. 
Let  amorous  fools  in  love-sick  measure  pine  ; 
Let  Strangford  whimper  on,  in  fancied  pain, 
And  leave  to  Moore  his  rose  leaves  and  his  vine ; 
Be  thine  the  task  a  higher  crown  to  gain, 
The  envied  wreath  that  decks  the  patriot's  holy  strain. 

II. 

Yet  not  in  proud  triumphal  song  alone, 
Or  martial  ode,  or  sad  sepulchral  dirge, 
There  needs  no  voice  to  make  our  glories  known ; 
There  needs  no  voice  the  warrior's  soul  to  urge 
To  tread  the  bounds  of  nature's  stormy  verge  ; 
Columbia  still  shall  win  the  battle's  prize ; 
But  be  it  thine  to  bid  her  mind  emerge 
To  strike  her  harp,  until  its  soul  arise 
From  the  neglected  shade,  where  low  in  dust  it  lies. 


42  TO  A   FRIEND. 


III. 


Are  there  no  scenes  to  touch  the  poet's  soul  ? 
No  deeds  of  arms  to  wake  the  lordly  strain  ? 
Shall  Hudson's  billows  unregarded  roll  ? 
Has  Warren  fought,  Montgomery  died  in  vain  ? 
Shame !  that  while  every  mountain  stream  and  plain 
Hath  theme  for  truth's  proud  voice  or  fancy's  wand, 
No  native  bard  the  patriot  harp  hath  ta'en, 
But  left  to  minstrels  of  a  foreign  strand 
To  sing  the  beauteous  scenes  of  nature's  loveliest  land. 


IV. 


Oh  !  for  a  seat  on  Appalachia's  brow, 
That  I  might  scan  the  glorious  prospect  round, 
Wild  waving  woods,  and  rolling  floods  below, 
Smooth  level  glades  and  fields  with  grain  em- 

brown'd, 

High  heaving  hills,  with  tufted  forests  crown'd, 
Rearing  their  tall  tops  to  the  heaven's  blue  dome, 
And  emerald  isles,  like  banners  green  unwound, 
Floating  along  the  lake,  while  round  them  roam 
Bright  helms  of  billowy  blue  and  plumes  of  dancing 

foam. 


TO  A    FRIEND.  43 


V. 


'Tis  true  no  fairies  haunt  our  verdant  meads, 
No  grinning  imps  deform  our  blazing  hearth ; 
Beneath  the  kelpie's  fang  no  traveller  bleeds, 
Nor  gory  vampyre  taints  our  holy  earth, 
Nor  spectres  stalk  to  frighten  harmless  mirth, 
Nor  tortured  demon  howls  adown  the  gale  ; 
Fair  reason  checks  these  monsters  in  their  birth. 
Yet  have  we  lay  of  love  and  horrid  tale 
Would  dim  the  manliest  eye  and  make  the  bravest 
pale. 


VI. 


Where  is  the  stony  eye  that  hath  not  shed 
Compassion's  heart-drops  o'er  the  sweet  Me  Rea  ? 
Through  midnight's  wilds  by  savage  bandits  led, 
"  Her  heart  is  sad — her  love  is  far  away  !" 
Elate  that  lover  waits  the  promised  day 
When  he  shall  clasp  his  blooming  bride  again  — 
Shine  on,  sweet  visions  !  dreams  of  rapture,  play  ! 
Soon  the  cold  corse  of  her  he  loved  in  vain 
Shall  blight  his  withered  heart  and  fire  his  frenzied 
brain. 


44  TO  A   FRIEND. 


VII. 


Romantic  Wyoming  !  could  none  be  found 
Of  all  that  rove  thy  Eden  groves  among, 
To  wake  a  native  harp's  untutored  sound, 
And  give  thy  tale  of  wo  the  voice  of  song  ? 
Oh  !  if  description's  cold  and  nerveless  tongue 
From  stranger  harps  such  hallowed  strains  could 

call, 

How  doubly  sweet  the  descant  wild  had  rung, 

From  one  who,  lingering  round  thy  ruined  wall, 

Had  plucked  thy  mourning  flowers  and  wept  thy 

timeless  fall. 


VIII. 

The  Huron  chief  escaped  from  foemen  nigh, 
His  frail  bark  launches  on  Niagara's  tides, 
"  Pride  in  his  port,  defiance  in  his  eye," 
Singing  his  song  of  death  the  warrior  glides ; 
In  vain  they  yell  along  the  river  sides, 
In  vain  the  arrow  from  its  sheaf  is  torn, 
Calm  to  his  doom  the  willing  victim  rides, 
And,  till  adown  the  roaring  torrent  borne, 
Mocks  them  with  gesture  proud,  and  laughs  their 
rage  to  scorn. 


TO   A   FRIEND.  45 


IX. 


But  if  the  charms  of  daisied  hill  and  vale, 
And  rolling  flood,  and  towering  rock  sublime, 
If  warrior  deed  or  peasant's  lowly  tale 
Of  love  or  wo  should  fail  to  wake  the  rhyme, 
If  to  the  wildest  heights  of  song  you  climb, 
(Tho'  some  who  know  you  less,  might  cry,  beware ! ) 
Onward  !  I  say  —  your  strains  shall  conquer  time  ; 
Give  your  bright  genius  wing,  and  hope  to  share 
Imagination's  worlds  —  the  ocean,  earth,  and  air. 


X. 


Arouse,  my  friend  —  let  vivid  fancy  soar, 
Look  with  creative  eye  on  nature's  face, 
Bid  airy  sprites  in  wild  Niagara  roar, 
And  view  in  every  field  a  fairy  race. 
Spur  thy  good  Pacolet  to  speed  apace, 
And  spread  a  train  of  nymphs  on  every  shore  ; 
Or  if  thy  muse  would  woo  a  ruder  grace, 
The  Indian's  evil  Manitous  explore, 
And  rear  the  wondrous  tale  of  legendary  lore. 


46  TO   A   FRIEND. 


XL 


Away  !  to  Susquehannah's  utmost  springs, 
Where,  throned  in  mountain  mist,  Areouski  reigns, 
Shrouding  in  lurid  clouds  his  plumeless  wings, 
And  sternly  sorrowing  o'er  his  tribe's  remains. 
His  was  the  arm,  like  comet  ere  it  wanes 
That  tore  the  streamy  lightnings  from  the  skies, 
And  smote  the  mammoth  of  the  southern  plains ; 
Wild  with  dismay  the  Creek  affrighted  flies, 
While  in  triumphant  pride  Kanawa's  eagles  rise. 


XII. 

Or  westward  far,  where  dark  Miami  wends, 
Seek  that  fair  spot  as  yet  to  fame  unknown ; 
Where,  when  the  vesper  dew  of  heaven  descends, 
Soft  music  breathes  in  many  a  melting  tone, 
At  times  so  sadly  sweet  it  seems  the  moan 
Of  some  poor  Ariel  penanced  in  the  rock ; 
Anon  a  louder  burst  —  a  scream  !  a  groan  ! 
And  now  amid  the  tempest's  reeling  shock, 
Gibber,  and  shriek,  and  wail — and  fiend-like  laugh 
and  mock. 


TO   A    FRIEND.  47 


XIII. 


Or  climb  the  Pallisado's  lofty  brows, 
Were  dark  Omana  waged  the  war  of  hell, 
Till,  waked  to  wrath,  the  mighty  spirit  rose 
And  pent  the  demons  in  their  prison  cell ; 
Full  on  their  head  the  uprooted  mountain  fell, 
Enclosing  all  within  its  horrid  womb ; 
Straight  from  the  teeming  earth  the  waters  swell, 
And  pillared  rocks  arise  in  cheerless  gloom 
Around  the  drear  abode — their  last  eternal  tomb  ! 


XIV. 


Be  these  your  future  themes — no  more  resign 
The  soul  of  song  to  laud  your  lady's  eyes ; 
Go  !  kneel  a  worshipper  at  nature's  shrine  ! 
For  you  her  fields  are  green,  and  fair  her  skies  f 
For  you  her  rivers  flow,  her  hills  arise ! 
And  will  you  scorn  them  all,  to  pour  forth  tame 
And  heartless  lays  of  feigned  or  fancied  sighs  ? 
Still  will  you  cloud  the  muse  ?  nor  blush  for  shame 
To   cast  away  renown,  and  hide  your  head   from 
fame  ? 


49 


EXTRACTS   FROM 


LEON. 


AN    UNFINISHED    POEM. 

******** 

IT  is  a  summer  evening,  calm  and  fair, 
A  warm,  yet  freshening  glow  is  in  the  air; 
Along  its  bank,  the  cool  stream  wanders  slow, 
Like  parting  friends  that  linger  as  they  go. 
The  willows,  as  its  waters  meekly  glide, 
Bend  their  dishevelled  tresses  to  the  tide, 
And  seem  to  give  it,  with  a  moaning  sigh, 
A  farewell  touch  of  tearful  sympathy. 
Each  dusky  copse  is  clad  in  darkest  green  : 
A  blackening  mass,  just  edged  with  silver  sheen 
From  yon  clear  moon,  who  in  her  glassy  face 
Seems  to  reflect  the  risings  of  the  place. 
For  on  her  still,  pale  orb,  the  eye  may  see 
Dim  spots  of  shadowy  brown,  like  distant  tree 

Or  far-off  hillocks  on  a  moonlight  lea. 

G 


50  EXTRACTS   FROM 

The  stars  have  lit  in  heaven  their  lamps  of  gold, 
The  viewless  dew  falls  lightly  on  the  wold, 
The  gentle  air,  that  softly  sweeps  the  leaves, 
A  strain  of  faint,  unearthly  music  weaves ; 
As  when  the  harp  of  heaven  remotely  plays, 
Or  cygnet's  wail — or  song  of  sorrowing  fays 
That  float  amid  the  moonshine  glimmerings  pale, 
On  wings  of  woven  air  in  some  enchanted  vale. 

It  is  an  eve  that  drops  a  heavenly  balm, 

To  lull  the  feelings  to  a  sober  calm ; 

To  bid  wild  passion's  fiery  flush  depart, 

And  smooth  the  troubled  waters  of  the  heart ; 

To  give  a  tranquil  fixedness  to  grief, 

A  cherished  gloom,  that  wishes  not  relief. 

Torn  is  that  heart,  and  bitter  are  its  throes, 

That  cannot  feel  on  such  a  night,  repose ; 

And  yet  one  breast  there  is  that  breathes  this  air, 

An  eye  that  wanders  o'er  the  prospect  fair, 

That  sees  yon  placid  moon,  and  the  pure  sky 

Of  mild,  unclouded  blue  ;  and  still  that  eye 

Is  thrown  in  restless  vacancy  around, 

Or  cast,  in  gloomy  trance,  on  the  cold  ground  ; 

And  still,  that  breast  with  maddening  passion  burns, 

And  hatred,  love,  and  sorrow,  rule  by  turns. 


LEON.  51 

A  lovely  figure  !  and  in  happier  hour, 

When  pleasure  laugh'd  abroad  from  hall  and  bower, 

The  general  eye  had  deem'd  her  smiling  face 

The  brightest  jewel  in  the  courtly  place  : 

So  glossy  is  her  hair's  ensabled  wreath, 

So  glowing  warm  the  eye  that  burns  beneath 

With  so  much  graceful  sweetness  of  address, 

And  such  a  form  of  rounded  slenderness ; 

Ah  !  where  is  he  on  whom  these  beauties  shine, 

But  deems  a  spotless  soul  inhabits  such  a  shrine  ? 


And  yet  a  keen  observer  might  espy 
Strange  passions  lurking  in  her  deep  black  eye, 
And  in  the  lines  of  her  fine  lip,  a  soul 
That  in  its  every  feeling  spurned  control. 
They  passed  unnoted — who  will  stop  to  trace 
A  sullying  spot  on  beauty's  sparkling  face  ? 
And  no  one  deemed,  amid  her  glances  sweet, 
Hers  was  a  bosom  of  impetuous  heat ; 
A  heart  too  wildly  in  its  joys  elate, 
Formed  but  to  madly  love — or  madly  hate; 
A  spirit  of  strong  throbs,  and  steadfast  will ; 
To  doat,  detest,  to  die  for,  or  to  kill ; 
Which,  like  the  Arab  chief,  would  fiercely  dare 
To  stab  the  heart  she  might  no  longer  share  ; 


52 


EXTRACTS   FROM 


And  yet  so  tender,  if  he  loved  again, 

Would  die  to  save  his  breast  one  moment's  pain. 


But  he  who  cast  his  gaze  upon  her  now, 

And  read  the  traces  written  on  her  brow, 

Had  scarce  believed  hers  was  that  form  of  light 

That  beamed  like  fabled  wonder  on  the  sight ; 

Her  raven  hair  hung  down  in  loosen'd  tress 

Before  her  wan  cheek's  pallid  ghastliness ; 

And,  thro'  its  thick  locks,  showed  the  deadly  white, 

Like  marble  glimpses  of  a  tomb,  at  night. 

In  fixed  and  horrid  musings  now  she  stands, 

Her  eyes  now  bent  to  earth,  and  her  cold  hands 

Prest  to  her  heart,  now  wildly  thrown  on  high, 

They  wander  o'er  her  brow  —  and  now  a  sigh 

Breaks  deep  and  full  —  and,  more  composedly, 

She  half  exclaims  —  "  No  !  no  !  —  it  cannot  be  ; 

"  He  loves  not,  never  loved  —  not  even  when 

"  He  pressed  my  wedded  hand  —  I  knew  it  then  ; 

"  And  yet  —  fool  that  I  was  —  I  saw  he  strove 

"  In  vain  to  kindle  pity  into  love. 

"  But  Florence  !  she  so  loved  —  a  sister  too ! 

"  My  earliest,  dearest  playmate  —  one  who  grew 

"  Upon  my  very  heart  — to  rend  it  so  ! 

"  His  falsehood  I  could  bear  —  but  hers  !  ah  !  ho. 


LEON.  53 

"  She  is  not  false  —  I  feel  she  loves  me  yet, 

"  And  if  my  boding  bosom  could  forget 

"  Its  wild  imaginings,  with  what  sweet  pain 

"  I'd  clasp  my  Florence  to  my  breast  again." 

With  that  came  many  a  thought  of  days  gone  by, 

Remembered  joys  of  mirthful  infancy ; 

And  youth's  gay  frolic,  and  the  short-lived  flow 

Of  showering  tears,  in  childhood's  fleeting  wo, 

And  life's  maturer  friendship  —  and  the  sense 

Of  heart-warm,  open,  fearless  confidence  ; 

All  these  came  thronging  with  a  tender  call, 

And  her  own  Florence  mingled  with  them  all ; 

And  softened  feelings  rose  amid  her  pain, 

While  from  her  eyes,  the  clouds,  melted  in  gentle  rain. 


A  hectic  pleasure  flushed  her  faded  face ; 

It  fled  —  and  deeper  paleness  took  its  place  ; 

Then  a  cold  shudder  thrill'd  her  —  and,  at  last, 

Her  lip  a  smile  of  bitter  sarcasm  cast, 

As  if  she  scorned  herself,  that  she  could  be 

A  moment  lulled  by  that  sweet  sophistry ; 

For  in  that  little  minute  memory's  sting 

Gave  word  and  look,  sigh,  gesture  —  every  thing, 

To  bid  these  dear  delusive  phantoms  fly, 

And  fix  her  fears  in  dreadful  certainty. 


54  EXTRACTS   FROM 

It  traced  the  very  progress  of  their  love, 
From  the  first  meeting  in  the  locust  grove  ; 
When  from  the  chase  Leon  carne  bounding  there, 
Backing  his  courser  with  a  noble  air ; 
His  brown  cheek  flushed  with  healthful  exercise, 
And  his  warm  spirits  leaping  in  his  eyes ; 
It  told  how  lovely  looked  her  sister  then, 
To  long-lost  friends,  and  home  just  come  again  ; 
How  on  her  cheek  the  tears  of  meeting  lay, 
That  tear  which  only  feeling  hearts  can  pay ; 
While  the  quick  pleasure  glistened  in  her  eye, 
Like  clouds  and  sunshine  in  an  April  sky ; 
And  then  it  told,  as  their  acquaintance  grew, 
How  close  the  unseen  bonds  of  union  drew 
Their  souls  together,  and  how  pleased  they  were 
The  same  blythe  pastimes  and  delights  to  share ; 
How  the  same  chord  in  each  at  once  would  strike, 
Their  taste,  their  wishes,  and  their  joys  alike. 

All  this  was  innocent,  but  soon  there  came 
Blushes  and  starts  of  consciousness  and  shame  ; 
That,  when  she  entered,  upon  either  cheek 
The  hasty  blood  in  guilty  red  would  speak 
Of  something  that  should  not  be  known  —  and  still 
Sighs  half  suppressed  seemed  struggling  with  the 
will. 


LEON.  55 

It  told  how  oft  at  eve  was  Leon  gone 

In  moody  wandering  to  the  wood  alone ; 

And  in  the  night,  how  many  a  broken  dream 

Of  bliss,  or  terror,  seemed  to  shake  his  frame ; 

How  Florence  too,  in  long  abstracted  fit 

Of  soul- wrapt  musing,  for  whole  hours  would  sit ; 

Nor  even  the  power  of  music,  friend,  or  book, 

Could  chase  her  deep  forgetfulness  of  look ; 

And  how,  when  questioned  —  with  an  indrawn  sigh, 

In  vague  and  far-off  phrase,  she  made  reply, 

And  smiled  and  struggled  to  be  gay  and  free, 

And  then  relapsed  in  dreaming  reverie. 

How  when  of  Leon  she  was  forced  to  speak, 

Unbidden  crimson  mantled  in  her  cheek ; 

And  when  he  entered,  how  her  eye  would  swim, 

And  strive  to  look  on  every  one  but  him, 

Yet,  by  unconscious  fascination  led, 

In  quick  short  glance  each  moment  tow'rds  him  fled ; 

How  he,  too,  seemed  to  shun  her  speech  and  gaze, 

And  yet  he  always  lingered  where  she  was ; 

Though  nothing  in  his  aspect  or  his  air 

Told  that  he  knew  she  was  in  presence  there  ; 

But  an  appearance  of  constrained  distress, 

And  a  dull  tongue  of  moveless  silentness, 


56  EXTRACTS   FROM 

And  a  down  drooping  eye  of  gloom  and  sadness, 
Oh  !  how  unlike  his  former  face  of  gladness. 
"  'Tis  plain  !  too  plain  !  and  I  am  lost,"  she  cried  ; 
And  in  that  thought  her  last  good  feeling  died. 

That  thought  of  hopeless  sorrow  seemed  to  dart 
A  thousand  stings  at  once  into  her  heart ; 
But  a  strong  effort  quelled  it,  and  she  gave 
The  next  to  hatred,  vengeance,  and  the  grave. 
Her  face  was  calmly  stern,  and  but  a  glare 
Within  her  eyes  —  there  was  no  feature  there 
That  told  what  lashing  fiends  her  inmates  were ; 
Within  —  there  was  no  thought  to  bid  her  swerve 
From  her  intent  —  but  every  strained  nerve 
Was  settled  and  bent  up  with  terrible  force, 
To  some  deep  deed,  far,  far  beyond  remorse  ; 
No  glimpse  of  mercy's  light  her  purpose  crost, 
Love,  nature,  pity,  in  its  depths  were  lost ; 
Or  lent  an  added  fury  to  the  ire 
That  seared  her  soul  with  unconsuming  fire  ; 
All  that  was  dear  in  the  wide  earth  was  gone, 
She  loved  but  two,  and  these  she  doted  on 
With  passionate  ardour  —  and  the  close  strong  press 
Of  woman's  heart-cored,  clinging  tenderness ;  — 
These  links  were  torn,  and  now  she  stood  alone, 
Bereft  of  all,  her  husband,  sister  —  gone  ! 


LEON.  57 

Ah  !  who  can  tell  that  ne'er  has  known  such  fate, 
What  wild  and  dreadful  strength  it  gives  to  hate  ? 
What  had  she  left  ?  Revenge !  Revenge !  was  there  ; 
He  crushed  remorse  and  wrestled  down  despair : 
Held  his  red  torch  to  memory's  page,  and  threw 
A  bloody  stain  on  every  line  she  drew ; 
She  felt  dark  pleasure  with  her  frenzy  blend, 
And  hugged  him  to  her  heart,  and  called  him  friend. 

When  sorrowing  clouds  the  face  of  heaven  deform, 
And  hope's  bright  star  sets  darkly  in  the  storm, 
Around  us  ghastly  shapes  and  phantoms  swim, 
And  all  beyond  is  formless,  vague,  and  dim, 
Or  life's  cold  barren  path  before  us  lies, 
A  wild  and  weary  waste  of  tears  and  sighs ; 
From  the  lorn  heart  each  sweetening  solace  gone, 
Abandoned,  friendless,  withered,  lost,  and  lone  ; 
And  when  with  keener  pangs  we  bleed  to  know 
That  hands  beloved  have  struck  the  deepest  blow ; 
That  friends  we  deemed  most  true,  and  held  most 

dear, 

Have  stretched  the  pall  of  death  o'er  pleasure's  bier ; 
Repaid  our  trusting  faith  with  serpent  guile, 
Cursed  with  a  kiss,  and  stabbed  beneath  a  smile ; 
What  then  remains  for  souls  of  tender  mould  ? 

One  last  and  silent  refuge,  calm  and  cold  — 

H 


58  EXTRACTS  FROM 

A  resting  place  for  misery's  gentle  slave ; 
Hearts  break  but  once,  no  wrongs  can  reach  the 
grave. 

Rest  ye,  mild  spirits  of  afflicted  worth  ! 

Sweet  is  your  slumber  in  the  quiet  earth ; 

And  soon  the  voice  of  heaven  shall  bid  you  rise 

To  meet  rewarding  smiles  in  yonder  skies. 

But  where,  for  solace,  shall  the  bosom  turn 

For    death    too    strong  —  for    tears  —  too    proudly 

stern  ? 

When  shall  the  lulling  dews  of  peace  descend 
On  hearts  that  cannot  break  and  will  not  bend  ? 
Ah  !  never,  never  —  they  are  doomed  to  feel 
Pains  that  no  balm  of  heaven  or  earth  can  heal ; 
To  live  in  groans,  and  yield  their  parting  breath 
Without  a  joy  in  life  —  or  hope  in  death. 
Yet,  for  a  while,  one  living  hope  remains, 
That  nerves  each  fibre  and  the  soul  sustains ; 
One  desperate  hope,  whose  agonizing  throes 
Are  bitterer  far  than  all  the  worst  of  woes ; 
A  hope  of  crime  and  horrors,  wild  and  strange 
As  demon  thoughts  —  that  hope  is  thine,  Revenge  ! 


LEON.  59 

*Twas  this  that  gave,  oh  !  Ellinor,  to  thee 
A  strength  to  bear  thy  matchless  misery : 
Though  the  hot  blood  ran  boiling  in  her  brain, 
And  rolled  a  tide  of  fire  through  every  vein, 
Though  many  a  rushing  voice  of  blighted  bliss 
Struck  on  her  mental  ears,  like  adders'  hiss ; 
That  hope  gave  gloomy  fiercenesss  to  her  eye, 
Dash'd  down  the  tear,  repress'd  the  unloading  sigh ; 
Fixed  her  wan  quivering  lip,  and  steeled  her  breast 
To  crush  the  hearts  that  robbed  her  own  of  rest. 

She  wound  her  way  within  a  heavy  shade 

Of  arching  boughs,  in  broad-spread  leaves  arrayed  ; 

Which,  clustering  close  and  thick,  shut  out  the  light, 

And  tinged  with  black  the  shadowy  robe  of  night ; 

Save  here  and  there  a  melancholy  spark 

Of   flickering   moonshine   glimmered    through 

dark, 

Cheerless  and  dim,  as  when  upon  a  pall, 
Through  suffering  tears,  the  looks  of  sorrow  fall ; 
But  opening  farther  on,  on  either  side 
A  wider  space  the  severing  trees  divide  ; 
And  longer  gleams  upon  the  pathway  meet, 
And  the  soft  grass  is  wet  beneath  her  feet. 
And  now  emerging  from  the  darksome  shade, 
She  pressed  the  silken  carpet  of  the  glade. 


60  EXTRACTS   FROM 

Beyond  the  green,  within  its  western  close, 
A  little  vine-hung,  leafy  arbor  rose, 
Where  the  pale  lustre  of  the  moony  flood 
Dimm'd  the  vermilion'd  woodbine's  scarlet  bud ; 
And  glancing  through  the  foliage  fluttering  round, 
In  tiny  circles  gemm'd  the  freckled  ground. 
Beside  the  porch,  beneath  the  friendly  screen 
Of  two  tall  trees,  a  mossy  bank  was  seen ; 
And  all  around,  amid  the  silvery  dew, 
The  wild- wood  pansy  rear'd  her  petals  blue  ; 
And  gold  cups  and  the  meadow  cowslip  red, 
Upon  the  evening  air  their  odours  shed. 

Unheeded  all  the  grove's  deep  gloom  had  been, 

Unseen  the  moonlight  brightness  of  the  green ; 

In  vain  the  stream's  blue  burnish  met  her  eye, 

Lovely  its  wave,  but  pass'd  unnoticed  by  : 

The  airs  of  heaven  had  breath'd  around  her  brow 

Their  cooling  sighs  —  she  felt  them  not  —  but  now 

That  lonely  bower  appeared,  and  with  a  start 

Convulsive  shudders  thrill'd  her  throbbing  heart. 

For  there,  in  days,  alas  !  for  ever  gone, 

When  love's  young  torch  with  beams  of  rapture 

shone, 

When  she  had  felt  her  heart's  impassion'd  swell, 
And  almost  deem'd  her  Leon  loved  as  well ; 


LEON.  61 

There  had  she  sat,  beneath  the  evening  skies, 
Felt  his  warm  kiss  and  heard  his  murmur'd  sighs ; 
Hung  on  his  breast,  caressing  and  carest, 
Her  husband  smiled,  and  Ellinor  was  blest. 

And  when  his  injured  country's  rights  to  shield, 
Blazed  his  red  banner  on  the  battle  field, 
There  had  she  lingered  in  the  shadows  dim, 
And  sat  till  morning  watch  and  thought  of  him ; 
And  wept  to  think  that  she  might  not  be  th.-re, 

\ 

His  toils,  his  dangers,  and  his  wounds  to  share. 
And  when  the  foe  had  bowed  beneath  his  brand, 
And  to  his  home  he  led  his  conquering  band, 
There  she  first  caught  his  long-expected  face, 
And  sprung  to  smile  and  weep  in  his  embrace. 

These  scenes  of  bliss  across  her  memory  fled, 
Like  lights  that  haunt  the  chambers  of  the  dead ; 
She  saw  the  bower,  and  read  the  image  there 
Of  joys  that  had  been,  and  of  woes  that  were  ; 
She  clench'd  her  hand  in  agony,  and  cast 
A  glance  of  tears  upon  it  as  she  past, 
A  look  of  weeping  sorrow  —  'twas  the  last ! 
She  check'd  the  gush  of  feeling,  turned  her  face, 
And  faster  sped  along  her  hurried  pace. 


62  EXTRACTS  FROM 

No  longer  now  from  Leon's  lips  were  heard 

The  sigh  of  bliss — the  rapture  breathing  word; 

No  longer  now  upon  his  features  dwelt 

The   glance   that   sweetly   thrills — the   looks  that 

melt; 

No  speaking  gaze  of  fond  attachment  told, 
But  all  was  dull  and  gloomy,  sad  and  cold. 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or  laboured  to  be  kind, 
And  strove  to  hide  the  workings  of  his  mind ; 
And  cloak'd  his  heart,  to  soothe  his  wife's  distress, 
Under  a  mask  of  tender  gentleness. 
It  was  in  vain — for  ah !  how  light  and  frail 
To  love's  keen  eye  is  falsehood's  gilded  veil. 
Sweet  winning  words  may  for  a  time  beguile, 
Professions  lull,  and  oaths  deceive  a  while  ; 
But  soon  the  heart,  in  vague  suspicion  tost, 
Must  feel  a  void  unfilled,  a  something  lost ; 
Something  scarce  heeded,  and  unprized  till  gone, 
Felt  while  unseen,  and,  tho'  unnoticed,  known : 
A  hidden  witchery,  a  nameless  charm, 
Too  fine  for  actions  and  for  words  too  warm ; 
That  passing  all  the  worthless  forms  of  art, 
Eludes  the  sense,  and  only  woos  the  heart : 
A  hallowed  spell,  by  fond  affection  wove, 
The  mute,  but  matchless  eloquence  of  love ! 


LEON.  63 

******** 

'Oh!   there  were   times,  when  to  my  heart  there 

came 

All  that  the  soul  can  feel,  or  fancy  frame ; 
The  summer  party  in  the  open  air, 
When  sunny  eyes  and  cordial  hearts  were  there ; 
Where  light  came  sparkling  thro'  the  greenwood 

eaves, 

Like  mirthful  eyes  that  laugh  upon  the  leaves ; 
Where  every  bush  and  tree  in  all  the  scene, 
In  wind-kiss'd  wavings  shake  their  wings  of  green, 
And  all  the  objects  round  about  dispense 
Reviving  freshness  to  the  awakened  sense ; 
The  golden  corslet  of  the  humble  bee, 
The  antic  kid  that  frolics  round  the  lea ; 
Or  purple  lance-flies  circling  round  the  place, 
On  their  light  shards  of  green,  an  airy  race ; 
Or  squirrel  glancing  from  the  nut-wood  shade 
An  arch  black  eye,  half  pleas'd  and  half  afraid ; 
Or  bird  quick  darting  through  the  foliage  dim, 
Or  perched  and  twittering  on  the  tendril  slim ; 
Or  poised  in  ether  sailing  slowly  on, 
With  plumes  that  change  and  glisten  in  the  sun, 
Like  rainbows  fading  into  mist — and  then, 
On  the  bright  cloud  renewed  and  changed  again ; 


64  EXTRACTS   FROM    LEON. 

Or  soaring  upward,  while  his  full  sweet  throat 
Pours  clear  and  strong  a  pleasure-speaking  note ; 
And  sinc  ?  in  nature's  language  wild  and  free, 
His  song  of  praise  for  light  and  liberty. 

And  when  within,  with  poetry  and  song, 
Music  and  books  led  the  glad  hours  along; 
Worlds  of  the  visioned  minstrel,  fancy-wove, 
Tales  of  old  time,  of  chivalry  and  love ; 
Or  converse  calm,  or  wit-shafts  sprinkled  round, 
Like  beams  from  gems,  too  light  and  fine  to  wound ; 
With  S{-'  >;ts  sparkling  as  the  morning's  sun, 
Light  as  the  dancing  wave  he  smiles  upon, 
Like  his  own  course — alas!  too  soon  to  know 
Bright  suns  may  set  in  storms,  and  gay  hearts  sink 
in  wo. 


65 


NIAGARA. 


i. 


ROAR,  raging  torrent !  and  thou,  mighty  river, 
Pour  thy  white  foam  on  the  valley  below ; 
Frown,  ye  dark  mountains !  and  shadow  for  ever 
The  deep  rocky  bed  where  the  wild  rapids  flow. 
The   green  sunny  glade,  and  the  smooth  flowing 

fountain, 

Brighten  the  home  of  the  coward  and  slave ; 
The  flood  and  the  forest,  the  rock  and  the  mountain, 
Rear  on  their  bosoms  the  free  and  the  brave. 


II. 


Nurslings  of  nature,  I  mark  your  bold  bearing, 
Pride  in  each  aspect  and  strength  in  each  form, 
Hearts  of  warm  impulse,  and  souls  of  high  daring, 
Born  in  the  battle  and  rear'd  in  the  storm. 
The  red  levin  flash  and  the  thunder's  dread  rattle, 
The  rock-riven  wave  and  the  war  trumpet's  breath, 
The  din  of  the  tempest,  the  yell  of  the  battle, 
Nerve  your  steeled  bosoms  to  danger  and  death. 


66  NIAGARA. 


III. 


High  on  the  brow  of  the  Alps'  snowy  towers 

The  mountain  Swiss  measures  his   rock-breasted 

moors, 

O'er  his  lone  cottage  the  avalanche  lowers, 
Round  its  rude  portal  the  spring-torrent  pours. 
Sweet  is  his  sleep  amid  peril  and  danger, 
Warm  is  his  greeting  to  kindred  and  friends, 
Open  his  hand  to  the  poor  and  the  stranger, 
Stern  on  his  foeman  his  sabre  descends. 


IV. 


Lo !  where  the  tempest  the  dark  waters  sunder 
Slumbers  the  sailor  boy,  reckless  and  brave, 
Warm'd  by  the  lightning  and  lulled  by  the  thunder, 
Fann'd  by  the  whirlwind  and  rock'd  on  the  wave ; 
Wildly  the  winter  wind  howls  round  his  pillow, 
Cold  on  his  bosom  the  spray  showers  fall ; 
Creaks  the  strained  mast  at  the  rush  of  the  billow, 
Peaceful  he  slumbers,  regardless  of  all. 


NIAGARA.  67 


V. 


Mark  how  the  cheek  of  the  warrior  flushes, 
As  the  battle  drum  beats  and  the  war  torches  glare ; 
Like  a  blast  of  the  north  to  the  onset  he  rushes, 
And  his  wide-waving  falchion  gleams  brightly  in  air,. 
Around  him  the  death-shot  of  foemen  are  flying, 
At  his  feet  friends  and  comrades  are  yielding  their 

breath ; 

He  strikes  to  the  groans  of  the  wounded  and  dying, 
But  the  war  cry  he  strikes  with  is,  'conquest  or 

death !' 


VI. 


Then  pour  thy  broad  wave  like  a  flood  from  the 

heavens, 

Each  son  that  thou  rearest,  in  the  battle's  wild  shock, 
When  the  death-speaking  note  of  the  trumpet  is  given, 
Will  charge  like  thy  torrent  or  stand  like  thy  rock. 
Let  his  roof  be  the  cloud  and  the  rock  be  his  pillow, 
Let  him  stride  the  rough  mountain,  or  toss  on  the  foam, 
He  will  strike  fast  and  well  on  the  field  or  the  billow, 
In  triumph  and  glory,  for  God  and  his  home ! 


68 


SONG. 


OH  !  go  to  sleep,  my  baby  dear, 

And  I  will  hold  thee  on  my  knee  ; 
Thy  mother's  in  her  winding  sheet, 

And  thou  art  all  that's  left  to  me. 
My  hairs  are  white  with  grief  and  age, 

I've  borne  the  weight  of  every  ill, 
And  I  would  lay  me  with  my  child, 

But  thou  art  left  to  love  me  still. 


Should  thy  false  father  see  thy  face, 

The  tears  would  fill  his  cruel  e'e, 
But  he  has  scorned  thy  mother's  wo, 

And  he  shall  never  look  on  thee : 
But  I  will  rear  thee  up  alone, 

And  with  me  thou  shalt  aye  remain ; 
For  thou  wilt  have  thy  mother's  smile, 

And  I  shall  see  my  child  again. 


69 


SONG. 

OH  the  tear  is  in  my  eye,  and  my  heart  it  is  breaking, 

Thou  hast  fled  from  me,  Connor,  and  left  me  forsa 
ken; 

Bright  and  warm  was  our  morning,  but  soon  has 
it  faded, 

For  I  gave  thee  a  true  heart,  and  thou  hast  betray 
ed  it. 

Thy  footsteps  I  followed  in  darkness  and  danger, 
From  the   home   of  my  love  to  the   land  of  the 

stranger ; 
Thou  wert  mine  through  the  tempest,  the  blight,  and 

the  burning; 
Could  I  think  thou  wouldst  change  when  the  morn 

was  returning. 

Yet  peace  to  thy  heart,  though  from  mine  it  must 

sever, 

May  she  love  thee  as  I  loved,  alone  and  for  ever ; 
I  may  weep  for  thy  loss,  but  my  faith  is  unshaken, 
And  the  heart  thou  hast  widowed  will  bless  thee  in 

breaking. 


70 


WRITTEN  IN  A  LADY'S  ALBUM. 


GRANT  me,  I  cried,  some  spell  of  art, 

To  turn  with  all  a  lover's  care 
That  spotless  page,  my  Eva's  heart, 

And  write  my  burning  wishes  there. 

But  Love,  by  faithless  Laia  taught 
How  frail  is  woman's  holiest  vow, 

Look'd  down,  while  grace  attempered  thought 
'Sate  serious  on  his  baby  brow. 

"  Go !  blot  her  album,"  cried  the  sage, 

"  There  none  but  bards  a  place  may  claim ; 

But  woman's  heart's  a  worthless  page, 
Where  every  fool  may  write  his  name." 

Until  by  time  or  fate  decayed, 

That  line  and  leaf  shall  never  part ; 

Ah !  who  can  tell  how  soon  shall  fade 
The  lines  of  love  from  woman's  heart. 


71 


LINES 

TO   A   LADY,   ON   HEARING   HER   SING   "  CUSHLAMACHREE." 

YES  !  heaven  protect  thee,  thou  gem  of  the  ocean ; 

Dear  land  of  my  sires,  though  distant  thy  shores ; 
Ere  my  heart  cease  to  love  thee,  its  latest  emotion, 

The  last  dying  throbs  of  its  pulse  must  be  o'er. 

And  dark  were  the  bosom,  and  cold  and  unfeeling, 
That  tamely  could  listen  unmoved  at  the  call, 

When  woman,  the  warm  soul  of  melody  stealing, 
Laments  for  her  country  and  sighs  o'er  its  fall. 

Sing  on,  gentle  warbler,  the  tear-drop  appearing 
Shall  fall  for  the  woes  of  the  queen  of  the  sea ; 

And  the  spirit  that  breathes  in  the  harp  of  green  Erin, 
Descending,  shall  hail  thee  her  "  Cushlamachree." 


72 


LINES 


WRITTEN   ON    LEAVING   NEW   ROCHELLE. 

WHENE'ER  thy  wandering  footstep  bends 
Its  pathway  to  the  Hermit  tree, 

Among  its  cordial  band  of  friends, 
Sweet  Mary !  wilt  thou  number  me  ? 

Though  all  too  few  the  hours  have  roll'd 
That  saw  the  stranger  linger  here, 

In  memory's  volume  let  them  hold 
One  little  spot  to  friendship  dear. 

I  oft  have  thought  how  sweet  'twould  be 
To  steal  the  bird  of  Eden's  art ; 

And  leave  behind  a  trace  of  me 
On  every  kind  and  friendly  heart, 

And  like  the  breeze  in  fragrance  rolled, 

To  gather  as  I  wander  by, 
From  every  soul  of  kindred  mould, 

Some  touch  of  cordial  sympathy. 


73 


'Tis  the  best  charm  in  life's  dull  dream, 
To  feel  that  yet  there  linger  here 

Bright  eyes  that  look  with  fond  esteem, 
And  feeling  hearts  that  hold  me  dear. 


HOPE. 


SEE  through  yon  cloud  that  rolls  in  wrath, 
One  little  star  benignant  peep, 

To  light  along  their  trackless  path 
The  wanderers  of  the  stormy  deep. 

And  thus,  oh  Hope  !  thy  lovely  form 
In  sorrow's  gloomy  night  shall  be 

The  sun  that  looks  through  cloud  and  storm 
Upon  a  dark  and  moonless  sea. 

When  heaven  is  all  serene  and  fair, 

Full  many  a  brighter  gem  we  meet ; 
'Tis  when  the  tempest  hovers  there, 

Thy  beam  is  most  divinely  sweet. 
K 


74 


The  rainbow,  when  the  sun  declines, 
Like  faithless  friend  will  disappear ; 

Thy  light,  dear  star !  more  brightly  shines 
When  all  is  wail  and  weeping  here. 

And  though  Aurora's  stealing  beam 
May  wake  a  morning  of  delight, 

'Tis  only  thy  consoling  beam 

Will  smile  amid  affliction's  night. 


75 


FRAGMENT. 


i. 


TUSCARA  !  thou  art  lovely  now, 

Thy  woods,  that  frown'd  in  sullen  strength 
Like  plumage  on  a  giant's  brow, 

Have  bowed  their  massy  pride  at  length. 
The  rustling  maize  is  green  around, 

The  sheep  is  in  the  Congar's  bed ; 
And  clear  the  ploughman's  whistlings  sound 

Where  war-whoops  pealed  o'er  mangled  dead. 
Fair  cots  around  thy  breast  are  set, 

Like  pearls  upon  a  coronet ; 
And  in  Aluga's  vale  below 
The  gilded  grain  is  moving  slow, 
Like  yellow  moonlight  on  the  sea, 
Where  waves  are  swelling  peacefully ; 
As  beauty's  breast,  when  quiet  dreams 

Come  tranquilly  and  gently  by ; 
When  all  she  loves  and  hopes  for  seems 

To  float  in  smiles  before  her  eye. 


76  FRAGMENT. 


II. 


And  hast  thou  lost  the  grandeur  rude 

That  made  me  breathless,  when  at  first 

Upon  my  infant  sight  you  burst, 
The  monarch  of  the  solitude  ? 

No ;  there  is  yet  thy  turret  rock, 
The  watch-tower  of  the  skies,  the  lair 

Of  Indian  Gods,  who,  in  the  shock 
Of  bursting  thunders,  slumbered  there ; 
And  trim  thy  bosom  is  arrayed 

In  labour's  green  and  glittering  vest, 
And  yet  thy  forest  locks  of  shade 

Shake  stormy  on  that  turret  crest. 
Still  hast  thou  left  the  rocks,  the  floods, 

And  nature  is  the  loveliest  then, 
When  first  amid  her  caves  and  woods 

She  feels  the  busy  tread  of  men; 
When  every  tree,  and  bush,  and  flower, 

Springs  wildly  in  its  native  grace ; 
Ere  art  exerts  her  boasted  power, 

That  brightened  only  to  deface. 


FRAGMENT.  77 


III. 


Yes !  thou  art  lovelier  now  than  ever ; 

How  sweet  'twould  be,  when  all  the  air 
In  moonlight  swims,  along  thy  river 

To  couch  upon  the  grass,  and  hear 
Niagara's  everlasting  voice, 

Far  in  the  deep  blue  west  away ; 
That  dreaming  and  poetic  noise 

We  mark  not  in  the  glare  of  day, 
Oh !  how  unlike  its  torrent- cry, 

When  o'er  the  brink  the  tide  is  driven, 
As  if  the  vast  and  sheeted  sky 

In  thunder  fell  from  heaven. 


IV. 


Were  I  but  there,  the  daylight  fled, 

With  that  smooth  air,  the  stream,  the  sky, 

And  lying  on  that  minstrel  bed 
Of  nature's  own  embroidery, 

With  those  long  tearful  willows  o'er  me, 
That  weeping  fount,  that  solemn  light, 


78  FRAGMENT. 

With  scenes  of  sighing  tales  before  me, 

And  one  green,  maiden  grave  in  sight ; 
How  mournfully  the  strain  would  rise 

Of  that  true  maid,  whose  fate  can  yet 
Draw  rainy  tears  from  stubborn  eyes ; 

From  lids  that  ne'er  before  were  wet. 
She  lies  not  here,  but  that  green  grave 

Is  sacred  from  the  plough  —  and  flowers, 
Snow-drops,  and  valley-lilies,  wave 

Amid  the  grass ;  and  other  showers 
Than  those  of  heaven  have  fallen  there. 


79 


TO 


WHEN  that  eye  of  light  shall  in  darkness  fall, 
And  thy  bosom  be  shrouded  in  death's  cold  pall, 
When  the  bloom  of  that  rich  red  lip  shall  fade, 
And  thy  head  on  its  pillow  of  dust  be  laid ; 


Oh !  then  thy  spirit  shall  see  how  true 
Are  the  holy  vows  I  have  breathed  to  you ; 
My  form  shall  moulder  thy  grave  beside, 
And  in  the  blue  heavens  I'll  seek  my  bride. 


Then  we'll  tell,  as  we  tread  yon  azure  sphere, 
Of  the  woes  we  have  known  while  lingering  here ; 
And  our  spirits  shall  joy  that,  their  pilgrimage  o'er, 
They  have  met  in  the  heavens  to  sever  no  more. 


80 


LINES. 

DAY  gradual  fades,  in  evening  gray, 

Its  last  faint  beam  hath  fled, 
And  sinks  the  sun's  declining  ray 

In  ocean's  wavy  bed. 
So  o'er  the  loves  and  joys  of  youth 

Thy  waves,  Indifference,  roll ; 
So  mantles  round  our  days  of  truth 

That  death-pool  of  the  soul. 


Spreads  o'er  the  heavens  the  shadowy  night 

Her  dim  and  shapeless  form, 
So  human  pleasures,  frail  and  light, 

Are  lost  in  passion's  storm. 
So  fades  the  sunshine  of  the  breast, 

So  passion's  dreamings  fall, 
So  friendship's  fervours  sink  to  rest, 

Oblivion  shrouds  them  all. 


81 


TO   EVA. 


A  BEAM  upon  the  myrtle  fell 

From  dewy  evening's  purest  sky, 

'Twas  like  the  glance  I  love  so  well, 
Dear  Eva,  from  thy  moonlight  eye. 


I  looked  around  the  summer  grove, 
On  every  tree  its  lustre  shone ; 

For  all  had  felt  that  look  of  love 
The  silly  myrtle  deemed  its  own. 


Eva !  behold  thine  image  there, 
As  fair,  as  false  thy  glances  fall; 

But  who  the  worthless  smile  would  share 
That  sheds  its  light  alike  on  all. 


82 


TO  A  LADY, 


WITH   A  WITHERED   VIOLET. 


THOUGH  fate  upon  this  faded  flower 
His  withering  hand  has  laid, 

Its  odour'd  breath  defies  his  power, 
Its  sweets  are  undecayed. 


And  thus,  although  thy  warbled  strains 

No  longer  wildly  thrill, 
The  memory  of  the  song  remains, 

Its  soul  is  with  me  still. 


83 


BRONX. 


I  SAT  me  down  upon  a  green  bank-side, 
Skirting  the  smooth  edge  of  a  gentle  river, 

Whose  waters  seemed  unwillingly  to  glide, 

Like  parting  friends  who  linger  while  they  sever ; 

Enforced  to  go,  yet  seeming  still  unready, 

Backward  they  wind  their  way  in  many  a  wistful 
eddy. 


Gray  o'er  my  head  the  yellow-vested  willow 
Ruffled  its  hoary  top  in  the  fresh  breezes, 

Glancing  in  light,  like  spray  on  a  green  billow, 
Or  the  fine  frost-work  which  young  winter  freezes ; 

When  first  his  power  in  infant  pastime  trying, 

Congeals  sad  autumn's  tears  on  the  dead  branches 
lying. 


84  BRONX. 

From  rocks  around  hung  the  loose  ivy  dangling, 
And  in  the  clefts  sumach  of  liveliest  green, 

Bright  ising-stars  the  little  beach  was  spangling, 
The  gold-cup  sorrel  from  his  gauzy  screen 

Shone  like  a  fairy  crown,  enchased  and  beaded, 

Left  on  some  morn,  when  light  flashed  in  their  eyes 
unheeded. 


The  hum-bird  shook  his  sun-touched  wings  around, 
The  bluefinch  caroll'd  in  the  still  retreat ; 

The  antic  squirrel  capered  on  the  ground 
Where  lichens  made  a  carpet  for  his  feet : 

Through  the  transparent  waves,  the  ruddy  minkle 

Shot  up  in  glimmering  sparks  his  red  fin's  tiny  twin 
kle. 


There  were  dark  cedars  with  loose  mossy  tresses, 
White  powdered  dog-trees,  and  stiff  hollies  flaunt 
ing 
Gaudy  as  rustics  in  their  May-day  dresses, 

Blue  pelloret  from  purple  leaves  upslanting 
A  modest  gaze,  like  eyes  of  a  young  maiden 
Shining  beneath  dropt  lids  the  evening  of  her  wed 
ding. 


BRONX.  85 

The  breeze  fresh  springing  from  the  lips  of  morn, 

Kissing  the  leaves,  and  sighing  so  to  lose  'em, 
The  winding  of  the  merry  locust's  horn, 

The  glad  spring  gushing  from  the  rock's  bare  bo 
som: 
Sweet  sights,  sweet  sounds,  all  sights,  all  sounds 

excelling, 

Oh!   'twas  a  ravishing   spot  formed  for  a  poet's 
dwelling. 


And  did  I  leave  thy  loveliness,  to  stand 

Again  in  the  dull  world  of  earthly  blindness  ? 

Pained  with  the  pressure  of  unfriendly  hands, 
Sick  of  smooth  looks,  agued  with  icy  kindness  ? 

Left  I  for  this  thy  shades,  were  none  intrude, 

To  prison  wandering  thought  and  mar  sweet  solitude  ? 


Yet  I  will  look  upon  thy  face  again, 
My  own  romantic  Bronx,  and  it  will  be 

A  face  more  pleasant  than  the  face  of  men. 
Thy  waves  are  old  companions,  I  shall  see 

A  well-remembered  form  in  each  old  tree, 

And  hear  a  voice  long  loved  in  thy  wild  minstrelsy. 


86 


SONG. 


'Tis  not  the  beam  of  her  bright  blue  eye, 
Nor  the  smile  of  her  lip  of  rosy  dye, 
Nor  the  dark  brown  wreaths  of  her  glossy  hair, 
Nor  her  changing  cheek,  so  rich  and  rare. 
Oh !  these  are  the  sweets  of  a  fairy  dream, 
The  changing  hues  of  an  April  sky ; 
They  fade  like  dew  in  the  morning  beam, 
Or  the  passing  zeohyr's  odour'd  sigh. 


'Tis  a  dearer  spell  that  bids  me  kneel, 
'Tis  the  heart  to  love,  and  the  soul  to  feel : 
'Tis  the  mind  of  light,  and  the  spirit  free, 
And  the  bosom  that  heaves  alone  for  me. 
Oh !  these  are  the  sweets  that  kindly  stay 
From  youth's  gay  morning  to  age's  night ; 
When  beauty's  rainbow  tints  decay, 
Love's  torch  still  burns  with  a  holy  light. 


Soon  will  the  bloom  of  the  fairest  fade, 
And  love  will  droop  in  the  cheerless  shade, 
Or  if  tears  should  fall  on  his  wing  of  joy, 
It  will  hasten  the  flight  of  the  laughing  boy. 
But  oh  !  the  light  of  the  constant  soul 
Nor  time  can  darken  nor  sorrow  dim ; 
Though  wo  may  weep  in  life's  mingled  bowl, 
Love  still  shall  hover  around  its  brim. 


TO  SARAH. 


ONE  happy  year  has  fled,  Sail, 

Since  you  were  all  my  own, 
The  leaves  have  felt  the  autumn  blight, 

The  wintry  storm  has  blown. 
We  heeded  not  the  cold  blast, 

Nor  the  winter's  icy  air ; 
For  we  found  our  climate  in  the  heart, 

And  it  was  summer  there. 


88 


II. 


The  summer's  sun  is  bright,  Sail, 

The  skies  are  pure  in  hue ; 
But  clouds  will  sometimes  sadden  them, 

And  dim  their  lovely  blue ; 
And  clouds  may  come  to  us,  Sail, 

But  sure  they  will  not  stay ; 
For  there's  a  spell  in  fond  hearts 

To  chase  their  gloom  away. 


III. 


In  sickness  and  in  sorrow 

Thine  eyes  were  on  me  still, 
And  there  was  comfort  in  each  glance 

To  charm  the  sense  of  ill. 
And  were  they  absent  now,  Sail, 

I'd  seek  my  bed  of  pain, 
And  bless  each  pang  that  gave  me  back 

Those  looks  of  love  again. 


89 


IV. 


Oh,  pleasant  is  the  welcome  kiss, 

When  day's  dull  round  is  o'er, 
And  sweet  the  music  of  the  step 

That  meets  me  at  the  door. 
Though  worldly  cares  may  visit  us, 

I  reck  not  when  they  fall, 
While  I  have  thy  kind  lips,  my  Sail, 

To  smile  away  them  all. 


THE  AMERICAN  FLAG. 
i. 

WHEN  Freedom  from  her  mountain  height 

Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 
She  tore  the  azure  robe  of  night, 

And  set  the  stars  of  glory  there. 
She  mingled  with  its  gorgeous  dyes 
The  milky  baldric  of  the  skies, 
And  striped  its  pure  celestial  white, 
With  streakings  of  the  morning  light ; 

M 


90  THE   AMERICAN   FLAG. 

Then  from  his  mansion  in  the  sun 
She  called  her  eagle  bearer  down, 
And  gave  into  his  mighty  hand, 
The  symbol  of  her  chosen  land. 

II. 

Majestic  monarch  of  the  cloud, 

Who  rear'st  aloft  thy  regal  form, 
To  hear  the  tempest  trumpings  loud 

And  see  the  lightning  lances  driven, 
When  strive  the  warriors  of  the  storm, 

And  rolls  the  thunder-drum  of  heaven, 
Child  of  the  sun !  to  thee  'tis  given 

To  guard  the  banner  of  the  free, 
To  hover  in  the  sulphur  smoke, 
To  ward  away  the  battle  stroke, 
And  bid  its  blendings  shine  afar, 
Like  rainbows  on  the  cloud  of  war, 

The  harbingers  of  victory ! 

III. 

Flag  of  the  brave !  thy  folds  shall  fly, 
The  sign  of  hope  and  triumph  high, 

When  speaks  the  signal  trumpet  tone, 
And  the  long  line  comes  gleaming  on. 


THE   AMERICAN   FLAG. 


91 


Ere  yet  the  life-blood,  warm  and  wet, 

Has  dimm'd  the  glistening  bayonet, 
Each  soldier  eye  shall  brightly  turn 

To  where  thy  sky-born  glories  burn ; 
And  as  his  springing  steps  advance, 

Catch  war  and  vengeance  from  the  glance. 
And  when  the  cannon-mouthings  loud 

Heave  in  wild  wreaths  the  battle  shroud, 
And  gory  sabres  rise  and  fall 
Like  shoots  of  flame  on  midnight's  pall ; 

Then  shall  thy  meteor  glances  glow, 
And  cowering  foes  shall  shrink  beneath 

Each  gallant  arm  that  strikes  below 
That  lovely  messenger  of  death. 


IV. 


Flag  of  the  seas !  on  ocean  wave 

Thy  stars  shall  glitter  o'er  the  brave ; 
When  death,  careering  on  the  gale, 

Sweeps  darkly  round  the  bellied  sail, 
And  frighted  waves  rush  wildly  back 

Before  the  broadside's  reeling  rack, 
Each  dying  wanderer  of  the  sea 

Shall  look  at  once  to  heaven  and  thee, 


92  THE  AMERICAN   FLAG. 

And  smile  to  see  thy  splendours  fly 
In  triumph  o'er  his  closing  eye. 


V. 


Flag  of  the  free  heart's  hope  and  home ! 

By  angel  hands  to  valour  given; 
Thy  stars  have  lit  the  welkin  dome, 

And  all  thy  hues  were  born  in  heaven. 
For  ever  float  that  standard  sheet ! 

Where  breathes  the  foe  but  falls  before  us, 
With  Freedom's  soil  beneath  our  feet, 

And  Freedom's  banner  streaming  o'er  us  ? 


THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A  A      000266391    2 


